Transformers Genesis
by FunkyFish1991
Summary: Welcome to Cybertron Academy, where the education of our students is our highest priority. But be sure to watch out for snooping government agencies, hidden alien technology, and top-secret pasts. G1/'07 movie AU, description and pairings inside.
1. Prologue

**_Title_**: Transformers Genesis

**_Summary_**: Welcome to Cybertron Academy, where the education of our students is our highest priority. But be sure to watch out for snooping government agencies, hidden alien technology, and top-secret pasts. They may creep up on you when you're not looking.

**_'Verse_**: A combination and _definite_ AU of both **G1** and the **2007** (& **2009**)** movies** with some hints of **Animated** and **Beast Wars** thrown in.

**_Rating_**: T (for strong curse words (in several different languages), violence, and healthy amounts of romance (slashy and non-slashy)).

**_Pairings_**: Jazz/Prowl, Optimus/Elita, Twins/Ratchet, Wheeljack/Bluestreak, Ironhide/Chromia, Mikaela/Sam, Skywarp/Thundercracker, and a few (dozen) others, not as prominent.

**_Disclaimer_**: We don't own Transformers... or pretty much anything else you'll recognize in this fic =D

**_Notes_**: So, this is being co-written by me and **Yamiyouka** on deviantART, based on a plotbunny of hers from a few years ago that I latched onto =) The following chapters will all be about the same length as this prologue, if not longer ;D

The characters in this story come from all over the world -- so they speak several different languages, which I have done my best to include little snippets of, especially the ones beyond the languages I actually speak. So if you speak any of the ones seen in this fic and you notice that I've made a grammar, spelling, simple translation or some other mistake, please tell me because I wouldn't know otherwise, and I know that translation websites and dictionaries will only get you so far! Translations for bits in foreign languages will always be included at the bottom of each chapter, and if you don't understand any British slang or dialect I may or may not include feel free to ask me about it, though I'll try to translate anything I think people might not get =P

I'll rate each chapter individually to give you a better idea of content. _The rating won't be pulled up for swearing_ unless it's particularly foul English (not that I think this will ever happen!), as you will now have been warned about the cursing, and all English translations for foreign expletives will be grouped at the bottom, so it's not like they'll be springing up out of nowhere and scaring you =) We swear a lot in England -- if I rated chapters for it they'd probably all be T and there'd be no point. Ratings will be for violence, romantic content, 'adult themes' etc.

And _finally_; as this is posted up here, we'll be posting the same chapters on deviantART in a group we created to keep all of its stuff together, complete with illustrations and extra tidbits I can't get on FanFiction, if you're interested, as well as on Yamiyouka's LiveJournal. Links will be put up in my profile =)

Well, enjoy!

* * *

_~ **TRANSFORMERS GENESIS**_**: _Cybertron Academy_**~

_~ PROLOGUE ~_

* * *

"Lennox, wake up! Wake up – _we're under attack_!"

"We're… – wait, _what_!?"

"Just get your ass outta bed!"

Epps was out of the tent before even finishing his last sentence. Of course, _Lennox_ was leaping from the bunk and hefting on his boots before his friend had finished the first.

The young solider threw himself from the tent into the total chaos outside, glancing around to assess the situation. The black of desert night surrounding the large military base was no longer a cool relief – it was an enemy. Because something was moving the in the dark all around him. Something huge.

But Lennox wasn't too interested in whatever it was at that exact moment. He was more concerned with the glowing missiles bursting craters into the ground wherever he looked. He might have been damn tired – it was two in the morning, for crying out loud – but they looked one hell of a lot like laser blasts.

"What is this? A sci-fi flick?" he shouted in loud bewilderment to Epps as they ran side by side. "Are those _lasers_?"

"Man, I have _no idea_. All I know is shit is goin' down an' we're wastin' time!"

"You got any weapons?" he hollered over the noise as the explosions boomed all around them.

Epps was already thrusting a Carbine into his waiting hands and sprinting into the fray. An explosion right behind them sent the pair crashing into the side of the abandoned Jeep ahead with a painful crack, before covering them in debris and dust. Lennox coughed roughly.

"Who the hell _are_ these guys?"

"I got no idea. Whoever they are they got some serious ammo."

"Yeah, no shit!"

The smaller man glanced over the top of the Jeep and swore. He was on his feet in the next instant and heaving his body into the driver's seat.

"Get in!"

Epps did so immediately, but turned to his friend as the Jeep roared into life and swerved harshly to the right, grinding the dusty ground beneath its tires.

"What're we doin'?"

"We're getting out of here!"

"_What_!?" Epps's face dropped into a disbelieving scowl. "We're runnin' away?"

"Look at the comm. tent!"

The young sergeant did just that and couldn't hold back a shout of surprise. The tent was on fire, with soldiers sprinting from its every exit like fleeing birds with their hands over their ears. No communications meant no backup.

It would be suicide to stay, facing weaponry like they'd just seen. And if nobody got out to warn someone of what was happening here, there was no hope to save the Qatar base.

As they tore through the camp, the pair wrestled three more members of their unit into the back of the vehicle with demands for them to get the HMG out of the trunk and set it the hell up to fire.

They weren't the only ones who'd noticed the new development in this battle. Three cars soared ahead of them to the southwest camp exit, while at least ten others were making their way as fast as possible to the others.

Lennox was aware of the shouts and noises all around him as he drove. In front, one of the freaky red blasts hit the track and threw up a dark cloud of dirt. He closed his eyes and drove right through it, powering on towards their goal and ignoring the enormous crater they'd passed. He was concentrating on little besides the drive until another Jeep flipped through the air and landed suddenly in front of them.

"_Whoa_!"

He swerved madly as the other car jumped and rolled down the road. Bodies flew from it; little black smudges just visible in the dark night. Behind him, Epps was cussing and shouting a blue streak, while Fig and the others in the car joined in as best they could. It was obvious Lennox wasn't the only one with absolutely no idea what the hell was going on.

Another car flew through the air in their direction. With every mental faculty he had remaining, Lennox stared through the billowing dust clouds at the exit of the camp towards which they were currently speeding, surrounded by explosions and the screams of people flying through the air and thundering into the ground.

One of the enormous shapes he'd seen before stood there. It was moving in great sweeping motions, and it took Lennox just a moment to realize that it was _throwing_ the approaching cars away from the gates.

He slammed on the brakes – to the confusion and shock of his passengers – and turned the vehicle around as best he could while travelling at 60mph. Though they skidded worryingly around a very wide turn, the Jeep was soon screaming in the other direction. In the passenger seat, Epps was just a few notches down from frenzy. The three soldiers in the back of the car were _way_ past frenzied. Fig and Donovan were yelling haphazardly in Spanish and Texan, and at some point their frantic shouts boiled down into one clear question:

"What do we do!?"

"We get weaponized, that's what we do!" Epps yelled. "Get the autos out the back of the Jeep!"

His order was rapidly complied with, and as he sped towards the north exit Lennox knew his team were beginning to open fire on the unknown attackers.

"Epps!" he shouted. "Count them!"

His friend began to do so out loud, his voice rising and falling in power as he volleyed off shots at the enemy. "Five! _Six_! Seven!"

"One over by the mess, Sarge!"

"Eight! Mother f– what _are_ these things?!"

But before anyone had time to answer, and directly following a shot let off by Fig, Lennox heard a horrible sound – a mechanical, grating wail. It sounded almost like a scream.

"I got one!" Fig yelled. "It's down! ¡Toma esto, tontopollas!"

His exclamation was followed by a thunderous pounding as something very, very big and heavy hit the ground. Lennox thought the thing shouted something else, in that same mechanized voice from before, but he couldn't make out anything that might have been words except possibly 'insect' and 'leg'. He didn't spare the thing a glance, but Epps apparently did.

The soldier turned back in the passenger seat and stared straight ahead. Lennox shouted without turning his head from the road;

"What is it?"

"Damn, man. It's a…" Epps shook his head. "A robot. A giant ass _robot_."

"I didn't know anyone had tech like that!"

"They don't! That's my point! I ain't _never_ seen shit like this before!"

Lennox couldn't answer – he had to swerve harshly to the left to avoid another flying car. This one was in two leaping pieces. He didn't bother to look and confirm that there was another robot at that gate hurling cars away from the exit.

Time for a different tactic.

"I'm driving around so we can get in some shots!"

There were shouts of agreement all around the Jeep as they sped off towards the closest robot. Lennox stared at it in shock as they approached. The thing was easily twenty feet tall and heavily armored. The laser blasts he'd seen earlier came from a shoulder-mounted cannon – built right into its body. In the dark he could only really make out spikes of its armor, and in flashes of light from the strobes someone was setting up to replace their busted lights, he could see blue paint and a red visor.

It was walking away from the comm. tent, Lennox realized with a start of anger.

He indicated their new target and heaved the wheel towards it as the four others in his car opened fire. The thing stopped, probably when it sensed that it was under a concentrated attack, and turned in their direction.

"Oh, _shit_!"

The car swerved. A volley of red blasts blew into the ground right where they would have been and left deep craters in their wake. As the vehicle sped away, the lasers stopped in their attack, and Lennox found himself resisting the urge to glance backwards.

"Epps! Tell me what's happening!"

"Trust me, you don't wanna know!"

"¡_Madre de Dios_!"

"Shoot it! _Shoot it_!"

"_Epps_!"

"Uh, looks like a… giant, robot, scorpion."

"A _what_?"

"Will someone _shoot_ the damn thing?!"

"I'm tryin'! It's too fast!"

"It's getting closer!"

"Shoot shoot shoot shoot _shoot_!"

"Oh my God, it just killed Ken!"

"Kill it! Kill it now!"

"I got it! _I got it_!"

Epps slapped Lennox's shoulder. "He got it – he blew its tail off. It's stopped!"

"At least we _know_ we can damage these things now!" Lennox yelled, before beginning to look for a new plan.

If they couldn't use the exits, the only other option he really saw was to just crash through the walls. They were fragile enough, and the Jeep was pretty hefty. But maybe a shot at it would work better.

"Epps – get the HMG. You've gotta… what's that noise?"

"What noise?"

"That pounding,"

With a jerk of recognition, Epps swung around in his seat. "Shit. Lennox, drive _faster_!"

'That pounding' was getting louder and louder. Lennox quickly figured out that it was footsteps, and that the footsteps didn't belong to anything weighing less than a couple tons.

So of course he took Epps's advice, and drove faster.

Within seconds he had figured out exactly what he was going to do, and altered his course slightly to head straight for the weapons tent ahead. "When I stop the car," he hollered to the others. "Get out, you understand? Get out of the car and get out of the camp."

Of course, there was confusion and protestation, but he crushed it down under the force of his determination. So when he swung behind the tent, out of the line of sight of whatever was chasing them (if it actually saw and didn't have heat vision or radar or something), and screeched down almost to a standstill, the four others piled from the Jeep before he hit the gas once more and shot off – the mechanical monster he couldn't make out in the darkness following right behind him.

There was a crackling from the radio at that point, and Lennox glanced down at it in relief. The communications must have been back up! His hand was centimeters from the receiver when a voice swept from the speakers that made his heart freeze in his chest.

"_Surrender, fleshbag_."

The voice was a growl; low, menacing, and unmistakably mechanical in nature.

"Surrender, my ass," Lennox shouted into the receiver, before ejecting the radio from the dash and hurling it over his shoulder to be crushed beneath the behemoth's feet.

He was beginning to wish he'd kept someone in the car to shoot at the damn thing, but the thought was squelched beneath the knowledge that his friends were right now making their escape from his hellhole and would hopefully bring help before the entire camp was destroyed.

That was until he heard the unmistakable sound of a missile launch.

_He wouldn't._

"He-ell yeah!"

_He did._

"Epps, I told you to get your ass outta here!" he shouted to nobody in particular.

He swung the Jeep back towards the weapons tent his teammates clearly hadn't been smart enough to get out of. The monster behind him followed, and – Lennox noticed in his peripheral vision with a flash of panic – it was getting closer and closer. Now it was less than thirty feet from him, and advancing way faster than he was driving. It didn't corner well, he'd noticed, but _damn_ it ran quick. He couldn't even hear its footsteps pounding behind him anymore, but he could hear its engine snarling.

Lennox swung the Jeep around, zigzagging wildly on his path towards the tent. The gap between him and the giant robot grew. Out of the corner of his eye he saw from just outside the weapons tent one big ass cannon being leveled right at him.

_Three…_

The thing was getting closer. It was nearly at striking distance.

_Two…_

Lennox kept his straight path towards the tent.

_One_.

He swerved to the left.

Behind him, where he'd been just seconds before, Epps's missile connected with the robot and there was an enormous flash of light and sound and a mechanical scream.

"Gotcha, you bastard!" someone screamed into the space after the explosion.

Lennox swung round to a stop right by his four man team, who'd set up a fortified ring of missile launchers and juddering HMGs.

"Epps!"

"I know, I know. I had a better idea."

"Well, I like it." He swung from the car. "I was beginning to miss you."

"Damn straight," Epps nodded without even looking at him and began calibrating his next victim. "Saved a gun for ya."

"Thanks," With a quick scan of the mini-makeshift base, Lennox picked out the machine gun and jumped over a couple containers of ammo to get to it. "What happened to the other robot?"

"¡No sabemos! ¡Él desapareció!"

Someone sighed roughly. "English, dude!"

"It went down, but wasn't there when the dust cleared!" Donovan shouted. "But I think we have bigger problems!"

She pointed to the sky. Lennox followed the line of her arm, and could just make out three shapes moving in the dark sky overhead, razing laser fire down on the camp.

"Oh, perfect."

"Hey, ladies! We're firing on the enemy jets! On my mark!"

"Don, Marks, you get that one, Fig, Crane, the one over the Mess. Ready?"

"_Fire_!"

The camp exploded with the sound of gunfire. The first plane dodged the attacks, barely singeing its tail on Markson's missile, and the second skimmed sideways and got clipped on its wing by some of Lennox's rounds. But the third one took a hit to the cockpit, and Fig hollered in triumph as it went tumbling down.

Then something happened as it fell. It was too dark, and the strobes didn't hit that high, but something shifted. Something moved. When the plane it the ground, it was almost humanoid in shape, with its fists pointed at the ground.

"Santa Maria…"

There was no mistaking what happened when the robot hit the dirt. It had some sort of piledriver system built into its arms, and when it hit the ground it activated them. The earthquake from that and from the monster's landing knocked every human in the vicinity onto their asses with a thunderous boom, and a few answering pounds let the soldiers know that at least one or two of the other robots went down too.

Everything moved much faster then. The jet Lennox and Epps had been firing at, with the shots to the right wing, swooped down. It too shifted in the dark, and was replaced with a bipedal robot like the one that had been chasing Lennox. The first one had carved an impressive crater into the ground as it landed, and the second jumped down into it.

"Get up, idiot," Lennox heard it say in perfect English. "Come on!"

While the five soldiers gaped, both robots hauled themselves to their feet, and leapt into the air using what looked like jet thrusters at the bottoms of their feet. Then they shifted again, parts and pieces of armor moving, rearranging, and both robots transformed back into jets.

"Sweeet…" Epps murmured, still slack-jawed.

"Well, stop ogling the bastards and shoot them down!"

Everyone attempted to do so, but it was too late by that point. The two jets were way up in the sky, reunited with the third. All three swung around, and in the pallid light of the moon, Lennox saw with a clenching of his gut that they were moving into a formation.

"Oh, shit. Epps! They're coming around!"

"And what exactly do you suggest we _do_ about it?!"

He had no idea. All he could do was watch as the three heavily armored planes shot closer and closer to their makeshift little fort. As they neared he made out their specific lines and recognized the three F-22s. Which just made the whole situation a thousand shades more not good. There was no point running, because the planes were just seconds away from firing range. Lennox braced himself and readied his gun to fire, for all the good it would do.

Then there was a whooping sound from the air.

His eyes both flashed wide open. Something collided with one of the three jets. He couldn't see much, but Lennox _could_ see that it was smaller than the other robots he'd seen, way smaller than the plane it had jumped on, and red in color. A second soared over and connected with another of the jets. It glinted in the light too much for Lennox to tell its color – white or yellow, maybe. It leapt off the first plane it had hit like a gymnast flipping over a vault, landing on the second one and sliding down its back with a terrible screeching sound.

"What the hell is this?!" Epps shouted.

"… I don't know! Just go with it!"

By this point, the five man team had been joined by a couple dozen more soldiers, forming a large core base of resistance, surrounded by guns and launchers and filled with rings of soldiers warily eyeing the scene as more and more robots began to pour in. Half of the soldiers were frozen in some sort of disbelieving shock. The other half were just plain freaking out. They started shooting at every mechanical thing in sight. As the robots started colliding with each other and hitting the ground all over the devastated camp, and the soldiers were pumping lead into anything metal that moved, an enormous black shape moved towards them.

Lennox only noticed it when it started to shift like the planes had before, and it landed suddenly on two gigantic feet just meters from their makeshift home base. It crouched down low, and every single man and woman there froze and turned to stare at it.

It was massive – bulky and black, with a fortified helmet-like head and what looked like some serious machine guns built into its forearms. Two great blue 'eyes' looked down at them, and for some reason Lennox got the impression it was severely pissed off.

"Will ya stap shootin' at us!? Ya'll keep at it an' we might start shootin' _back_!" Its voice was low and even more of a growl than that of the one that had chased Lennox in the Jeep earlier. Even worse, it spoke in what Lennox didn't know any better than to call a Southern twang. It stuck its finger up to its face, pointing at its left 'eye'. "Shoot tha ones with red optics. Blue are tha good guys!"

"Alright, you heard the… thing!" Lennox shouted. "We'll go with not shooting the ones attacking the ones that tried to kill us!"

There was a second of stillness, before everyone opened fire. Even in the dark, it was obvious whether the robots had blue or red glowing 'optics', and they used that as their cue. With the new arrivals, the battle turned around rapidly. The first wave of robots started to pull back, and all over the SOCCENT base they were transforming into vehicles and speeding or flying off, some followed by the second group of robots.

One small silver one broke from its previous tussle with one of the red-eyes, landing neatly in front of the soldiers. It was way shorter than the others Lennox had seen that early morning, and was wearing a glowing blue visor. He assumed that was the equivalent of blue optics, so stood and walked over to it.

It crouched down smoothly onto one knee and stuck out a hand. Well, more of a claw, but Lennox recognized a fist when he saw it. He punched it with a grin and followed with a salute.

"I have no idea who or what the hell you guys are, but we owe you our lives."

"That's our job," the robot replied, and its face moved in a way that reminded Lennox very strongly of a charismatic grin. Its voice was mechanical but as smooth as the way it moved, and the soldier began to grin in response.

The other survivors of the attack began to gather around the strange pair with looks of awe on their faces. Epps practically leapt over to stand beside his best friend and stare unashamedly at the robot.

"Damn, man!" He held out a fist and only grinned wider when the robot rumbled and knocked it – gently. "I'm Sergeant Robert Epps, this here's Captain Will Lennox."

"Nice to meet you," Lennox added, as he felt he needed to say _something_.

"Same here, guys. Name's Jazz, second lieutenant, N.E.S.T. operations," the robot answered with a salute.

"'Nest'?" Lennox exchanged a look with Epps before he turned back to Jazz, looking the giant ass robot up and down. "Dare I ask?"

Jazz rumbled again, and both soldiers realized after a second that he was laughing. "You'll find out in a sec, Ah think."

Sure enough, a wave of black SUVs was swarming in from the freed entrances, and Lennox knew government military when he saw it. The SUVs were followed by Jeeps, and soon the survivors were finding themselves herded into the backs of enclosed vehicles all over the place and being treated for any injures or – more likely – shock.

Before the door to their evacuation vehicle fell shut, Lennox glanced out at the scene outside. The morning began to glow on the horizon, and he just caught sight of an enormous red and blue robot striding towards them, before the door was closed and all he could see was the inside of the van.

* * *

Several hours later, the soldiers were Stateside and had been debriefed and hustled into what looked pretty much like a giant silver warehouse, where they waited. And waited.

Problem was, nobody knew what exactly they were waiting for.

It was hours later that the doors at the far end swept open, and a group of guys in black suits marched through. Lennox and Epps hopped down from the crate they'd been sitting on and studied the newcomers as they approached. Behind the pair, the survivors who hadn't had to be hospitalized gathered, an air of expectation surrounding them. All in all, there were twenty-one of them.

"Captain Lennox, I presume?" The man at the front of the procession stopped in front of the group and folded his arms over his expensive-looking black suit.

"That's me," Lennox confirmed, giving the party a wary look.

Something about the first man felt slimy and condescending, but the others didn't seem so bad. A couple of them were looking at the floor so he couldn't see their faces beneath the brims of their caps, though he noticed they each wore shades. Two stood to either side and slightly behind the slimy one at the front, and there were three more interspersed at varying locations within the crowd of sixteen people in suits – one guy and two women. Some of the group were just wearing black suits, while others were in military uniform, one ranking general, and pretty much every officer rank below was there as well.

"I guess I don't need to tell you that you and your people saw things at that base attack that are so far above your head you can't even _imagine_ their security rating?"

Yeah, so the guy was kind of an ass.

"Well, not to be indelicate, _Sir_, but – no duh."

Someone in the crowd behind the slimy guy sniggered, followed by a few answering chortles from Lennox's team.

"Attitude won't get you anywhere, young man," the prick informed him. "I just have one question for you and your peons." He leaned forward, and lowered his Ray Bans with one hand. "You've got a choice. You either join us, or we wipe your memories of the whole event and you go on with your pathetic lives. What are you going to do?"

"Well, Sir," Lennox said with a grin. "I'm sure I speak for most of these guys when I say you couldn't pay us enough to walk away from this now."

There was a loud chorus of agreement from behind him, and his mouth tipped into a grin.

"Excellent."

As it turned out, Lennox hadn't spoken for all of his soldiers, but by the time those who had gone for the second option had been escorted from the cavernous room, there were sixteen men and women left standing behind him. Except Epps, who was standing at Lennox's right hand and almost bouncing with excitement.

"Fantastic. Let's get them set up, people!" The slimy man sent Lennox a parting smirk before turning on his heel. Four of his party followed, and those that remained faced off against their new recruits.

Then the five people in the small crowd that had had their heads down before looked up at them, and the man who was standing in the middle of the group walked a couple of steps forward. Three of the five Lennox had picked out had white skin, while the guy who was moving towards the newbies and one of the women were black.

All of the soldiers stared. There was something wrong with those five – something unnatural. They couldn't put their fingers on it, it was something unquantifiable. Lennox exchanged a look with his best friend, and Epps gave him an identical glance of confusion.

The one that had stepped forward took off his cap to reveal woven dreadlocks across his head. But they were wrong as well – they shone too brightly in the harsh warehouse lighting. The guy reached up a gloved hand. The uniform he wore gave his rank as lieutenant. He wrapped his fingers around the rim of his silver Oakleys, and pulled them off, and Lennox – plus pretty much everyone else behind him – drew in a sharp breath.

Because this guy didn't have what any of them would call _normal_ eyes. Though the shape of them was right, framed thickly with dark eyelashes the same color as his dreads, the whites of his eyes were glowing ever so slightly blue, while the irises were completely cerulean and glowing much more strongly. The unnatural eyes were giving off a distinct sense of enjoyment.

"So, Lennox, Epps, ya finally joined us?"

He knew that voice. The mechanical note and the self-assured, amused tone.

Epps gaped openly. "_Jazz_?"

Another of the human/whatever-the-hell-they-weres stepped forward; the very tall one in the general's uniform. Lennox counted four stars on his shoulder, and watched, rapt, as he too removed his heavy black sunglasses – revealing another pair of glowing bright blue eyes. These ones were glowing with calm and authority.

"Gentlemen, ladies," the tall robo-man addressed them in a deep, kind voice. "My name is Optimus Prime. Welcome to the Autobots."

* * *

A shadowed, towering figure prowled across the dark space and slammed a titanic clawed hand into the metal wall. The powerful clanging sound reverberated through the entire room, deafeningly loud in the silence.

"All I want to know," the figure snarled. "Is did you get the information?"

The little figure it towered over shuttered four blue optics erratically at him, before straightening and taking on a confident, smug air.

"Y-You bet your ass, S-Sir."

* * *

**_FOURTEEN YEARS EARLIER_**

* * *

The sun had set hours ago, she noticed unenthusiastically as her arms locked behind her chair and her back arched in a deep stretch. Her spine clicked pleasingly, and after a quick shake of her blonde hair she settled back with her hands on the keyboard with just that little bit more energy than before.

_Go to bed_, her mind admonished her. _You're obsessing, and you have a presentation to give tomorrow. You already have huge black bags under your eyes, and you'll make an even worse impression if you're swaying backwards and forwards like a drunkard while you're talking._

The reasoning was anything but effective. Reason had never really been allowed to rule her; she preferred facts. And the fact was that her current task was far more interesting than sleeping, and more of a priority in her (admittedly sleep-deprived) mind than a guest presentation in the morning for which she had been oh-so-charitably volunteered and which she oh-so-desperately wanted to skive.

She could see her nose shining in the light of the screen that glowed brightly in the blackened room. The lights were off in the hall, so she supposed her parents had gone to bed by now, and she didn't have to try so hard not to click the keys and alert them to the fact that she was awake the night before her talk with her alarm clock blinking three bright red noughts followed by a skinny '1' at her.

Her attention returned abruptly to the words onscreen after she noticed herself dozing steadily off. The keys clacked as she typed without bothering to glance at her flying fingers.

_– pretty huge. So, here's what I've got, but the firewalls and defense coding of the website are really complicated – you mind if I call in some trusted help? I'm not sure what you've found, but I'm sure I can_

Her eyes flicked briefly to the reddish bar of light at the base of her door. Hadn't the hall light been off a moment ago?

The instant the thought entered her head the door smashed open and slammed against the wall. The light that flashed in from the hall was immediately blocked by a towering black figure.

With a gun trained on her forehead.

She shrieked in shock and fear. Her fingers dashed four quick commands across the keyboard before she heard a deep, metallic 'click'. Her body catapulted of its own accord across the room and away from the door, through which more and more black forms were spilling with heavy guns hefted to their shoulders.

"Freeze!"

She obeyed the command unwittingly.

"Face down on the floor. _Now_!"

This time she complied with the order, dropping to her stomach. Her limbs shook viciously and her eyes stretched wide. Out in the hall she could distantly hear her parents' angry voices and more barked orders.

Someone was talking to her. She couldn't make out the words though she tried through the pounding of her pulse in her ears.

_What have I done? _she screamed. _Tell me what I've done!_

Her eyes flitted to the screen. Her hands were being dragged behind her back, and seconds later someone much stronger than her was yanking her to her feet and pulling her towards the door. With the last piece of will she could find through her haze of fear and consuming confusion, she jerked her head down and hit the 'Enter' key with her nose – just before she was barked at angrily again and twisted much more forcefully and painfully to the door.

But not before catching a glimpse of the wonderful text blinking onscreen.

_Your message has been sent!_

* * *

_Opening..._

_... _

_Message received at 00:03, Today_

**From**: MadMagMadsen  
**To**: witty_won217  
**Subject**: RE: Forum query

Well, been searching for a while now and I haven't really found much. There's this one site that looks like it might be good, but if it's what you're looking for... whatever this thing is you've found is pretty huge. So, here's what I've got, but the firewalls and defense coding of the website are really complicated – you mind if I call in some trusted help? I'm not sure what you've found, but I'm sure I can

SOS

* * *

**_TRANSLATIONS_**

**Toma esto, tontopollas** = take that, asshole (_Spanish_)

**Madre de Dios** = mother of God (_Spanish_)

**No sabemos** = we don't know (_Spanish_)

**Él desapareció** = it disappeared (_Spanish_)


	2. Chapter 1

_**Title**_: Transformers Genesis  
_**'Verse**_: 2007/9 movies & G1 AU  
_**Authors**_: **FunkyFish1991** & **Yamiyouka**

_**Arc: **_One – Cybertron Academy

_**Chapter Rating**_: K  
_**Disclaimer**_: We own overactive imaginations. Et c'est tout, mes amis.

_**Notes**_: I got a language correction! That makes me oddly happy ^_^ There's more foreign languages in this chapter, and they're probably butchered even worse, so if you can tell me how to fix it, please do! Especially the Dutch. Oh, the Dutch X_x Also, the technobabble. Suspend your disbelief, my friends =D

I would also like to take this opportunity to remind you that _the chapter rating does not take swearing into account_, and that the translation section at the bottom contains some fairly colorful language, from some fairly colorful characters. Onwards! 8D

* * *

_**TRANSFORMERS GENESIS**_**: **_**Cybertron Academy**_~

_~ ONE ~_

_

* * *

_

"Ratchet! Are you in there?"

The door opened unenthusiastically a few moments later and a sour, wrinkled face appeared around the frame.

"'Ratchet' is not here, Mr. Price. This day has been blissfully quiet so far, and you are ruining my relaxation."

'Mr. Price''s eyes widened and he backed away apologetically. "I'm sorry, Nurse Butterwick; I didn't realize." He paused to gauge the scowling woman's face, wondering whether or not she would maul him unremorsefully if he didn't make a swift escape. He decided to chance it. "Do you know where he is?"

"No."

"Ah, well," he backpedalled furiously when she opened the door wider, quite possibly to drag him into the office to suffer his terrible fate. "Thanks anyway. Sorry for disturbing you."

"Hurry back," she called dryly after him as he fled around the corner.

He was met there with the sound of raucous laughter, running with a smooth bass accompaniment of chuckles. After dragging his hands through his strawberry blond hair in an attempt to calm himself down, he glanced up at the offenders.

"I don't find it that funny."

The taller of the two, brown hair heavily tousled as usual and green eyes sparkling with amusement, stepped forwards and reduced his laughter to little, poorly-disguised throat clears. "Sorry, 'Aid. Didn't mean ta laugh atcha."

"It was unwise of you to bother Nurse Butterwick, as I'm sure you've realized," the other contributed in a stately voice, smoothing his black hair behind his ear.

"Yeah, Mirage, I noticed." First Aid sighed, peeling his back from the wall and standing up straight. "Do either of you know where Ratchet is right now?"

"Common Room," the first teen replied with a friendly smile. "With the others."

"Thank you, Hound," he bobbed his head and strode off with as much dignity as he could muster.

They could mock him all they wanted – it was difficult to fathom the terror one felt in an angered Nurse Butterwick's presence without experiencing it firsthand. And though there was little to be said for his trainee friend's bedside manner either, at least _he_ was _consistently_ volatile.

He entered the Common Room to the sounds of pounding music, cheerful shouting, friendly and rolling laughter, not-so-cheerful shouting, and what may have been an episode of _CSI _desperately blaring its theme out over the cacophony. After wincing in reaction to the terrible noise, he tried to ignore the din and locate his target.

Blaster was in the far corner of the room, right in between the two titanic subwoofers he had insisted they have installed, writhing rhythmically to the thundering beat and grinning as though he didn't realize he was in the presence of others. Jazz was a few feet from him, out of the immediate range of the speakers and into the zone First Aid personally would have labeled as 'Safe to Occupy Without Suffering Permanent Inner Ear Damage'. (Blaster, of course, was a natural exception to any such rule.) Despite the crushing volume of the music, Jazz was dancing just as wildly as Blaster, his dreads flailing jubilantly around his head. He was, as always, in perfect time with the nuances of the song, and moving with a grace First Aid personally found unsuited to the angry, grating music and often offensive lyrics.

They were the only two people in the room really moving, and he got the distinct impression that minutes before he had entered Jazz had won some sort of dispute with a disapproving friend, the prize for which was the right to freely 'boogie wit' Blasta', as he would so succinctly have put it, rather than working on the posters, banners, signposts, and who-knows-what-else that were scattered like a heavy blanket of snow over every horizontal surface in the room. It was at the center of the mess that First Aid caught the welcome sight of his friend on one of the couches with a small group of other teens. They were all buried beneath a pile of red paper and ribbons, and he jumped forwards as his previous excitement returned in full.

"Ratchet!"

At the sharp but happy sound of his voice, the redhead looked irritably up from the… whatever it was on his lap and fixed his stare on the other teen.

"What do you want, 'Aid? I'm elbow deep in frills, in case you couldn't see."

"Your girlfriend is a slave-driver, you know that Optimus?" grumbled a tan boy with lightly waved black hair from his perch atop the back of the couch. In front of him, leaning against his shin, was a brunette wearing a deep pink leather jacket and a highly amused grin.

She turned to look at him as the smile widened. "Careful Sides; she might hear you."

"She might hear it from someone else," Optimus chipped in with a strange expression; as though he had just swallowed a bee.

Sides's icy blue eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't."

"Ah, he would," came a new, gravelly voice from the floor. "Yeh can nevah trust th' quiet 'uns."

"You be quiet, Ironhide," The reprimand came with a swift bat on his head from the dark-skinned young woman sitting on the couch behind him with her legs crossed over his shoulder. "Elita'll kick your sorry butt half-way into next week if you don't finish that banner by lunch, and God help you if you miss our movie tonight."

Both black-haired boys on the back of the couch burst out laughing; one in peals and the other in throaty chuckles. The others present at least attempted to show some pity for the look on Ironhide's face – except Arcee, who had fallen with her head back on Sideswipe's knees and had been rendered completely silent with laughter, and First Aid, who was getting a little tetchy that Ratchet had yet to hear his news, and just rolled his eyes.

"Ratchet," he tried again. "I got the letter today. They accepted me."

Ratchet, for his part, had been doing a spectacularly impressive interpretation of a laughing kookaburra. His elbow was braced against the arm of the couch, with his face buried in his hand as he howled and pointed at the auburn-haired teenager now shooting disgruntled glares at everybody laughing at him.

But Ratchet fell almost instantly quiet when he heard his protégé, and turned dull gold eyes to his eager face.

"Oxford?" he asked a little too softly.

First Aid just grinned and nodded.

"Wow, 'Aid – that's amazing!" Arcee cried, and jumped up to embrace him as the others echoed her congratulations. They clambered from their seats and clapped him on the back and shoulders while jostling each other out of the way, until only the two younger teens perched on the back of the couch and one shell-shocked Ratchet remained seated.

"Ratch?"

Two pairs of ice blue eyes glanced at each other at the lack of reaction. The one on the right leaned down, bangs flailing in his face, and prodded the top of the elder's arm. "Ratch?"

"Don't call me that," the redhead snapped, turning his head. He jerked back a few inches when he saw how close the twin's face was to his own. "And get _out_ of my personal space."

"But Ratch, I like invading your personal space!" came the much-too-eager response. "I'd quite like to move in here, actually–"

"Get," A pale hand squashed against the grinning face. "Off." He gave the trespasser a rough push and almost grinned triumphantly as he fell off the back of the couch with a gratifying 'whomph' sound and a yelp of surprise. Mission accomplished, Ratchet's golden eyes flitted over his shoulder to the remaining occupant of the sofa. "Don't get any ideas."

His reply was an ugly, derisive snort. "Idiot deserved it."

They both ignored the indignant "Hey!" from the floor behind them.

"What's wrong with you?"

Ratchet twisted around and narrowed his eyes further. "Excuse me?"

The dangerous look didn't faze the other boy in the slightest. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and his handsome face was blank as he raised one black eyebrow. "Why aren't you excited about your little minion?"

"First Aid is not my 'minion', Sunstreaker."

A shrug. "Whatever."

"Yeah, Ratch," Sideswipe's black-haired head reappeared over the back of the couch, chin resting on his forearms. His pleased grin was back in place despite his epic, flapping fall of just moments before. "You're acting like it's bad news!"

"It's not your problem, so just drop it." He received identical unimpressed stares, and sighed roughly. "Look, if you really care that much about First Aid, how 'bout you go congratulate him, instead of sitting here irritating me about nothing."

"Hey," Sides said softly. "That isn't fair and you know it."

"Tell us what's wrong," Sunstreaker demanded irritably. "If it was 'nothing' you wouldn't be making such a big fuss about it."

"Excuse me if I'm wrong," Ratchet scowled. "But I think it's you two making the fuss here."

Sideswipe glanced at his twin, and the grin reappeared on his lips. "Hey Sunny, I think Ratchet's trying to avoid the question."

Sunstreaker snorted again and directed a venomous glare at the annoyed redhead sitting below them. "Fine then. Don't tell us. We don't give a flying fuck about First Aid and his fancy uni anyway."

"Charming," Ratchet mumbled. "Well then, get back to work. We're still on a deadline."

Sides made a sound that may very well have been a whine and pitched himself over the couch. Ratchet yowled irritably as six feet of cheerful Sideswipe plummeted over his shoulder and landed without preamble on his lap. With his back on Ratchet's thighs and his ankles crossed over the elder's shoulder, blazingly blue eyes wide and glittering, Sides beamed winningly up at the other teen and tapped his fingers jubilantly on Ratchet's pale arm.

"Don't be an ass. The whole world won't end if you take a few minutes away from Elita's frillies to talk to us."

"You really know how to get a person to open up," Ratchet said warningly, before levering his hands underneath the heavy body on his lap and flipping him onto the floor for the second time in under three minutes.

Sunstreaker cleared his throat disdainfully, and glowered at his brother. "You're not helping, dumbass."

But Sideswipe was not to be swayed, and Ratchet realized it with that familiar sinking feeling in his chest as soon as the younger teen crawled up to sit back on his heels and fixed him with a plaintive stare. Dammit, but he hated it when the twin put on that face. It was far worse than that fake, overly extravagant puppy-dog pout he put on when he wanted something badly; but not badly enough to actually get this upset about it.

He hated being the one to put that expression on his face.

"Ratchet."

He grumbled angrily and uncomfortably. "I said, 'leave it alone'. Leave me alone."

"_What_ are you doing?"

All attention in the room turned abruptly to its newest entry. A striking young woman, with a presence bigger than would be expected for her size, stood in the doorway – practically radiating disapproval. Her blonde hair was pale like her skin, with a hint of rich strawberry, while her eyes were deep, grayish blue. Currently they were narrowed in suspicion and focused on the ever-growing group in the middle right of the room, at the center of which was First Aid, and slyly detaching himself from which was the towering form of her boyfriend.

"Elita," he rumbled soothingly as he approached. "We're just taking a break to congratulate First Aid on his acceptance to Oxford."

She processed the information quickly and turned a pleased smile to the young man in question. "That's wonderful news, 'Aid. You must be very pleased." Her reply was a thankful grin. "However," She wheeled purposefully on the rest of the room, having to yell to be heard over the jarring din of Blaster's music. "I leave you for ten minutes to answer the phone and I come back to a _party_?"

"Ain't no party here, 'Lita," Jazz called cheerfully from his corner, not ceasing his crazy dancing. "Jus' some good music, good friends, and good fun!"

"Oh, _spare_ us." Chromia rolled rich brown eyes at him from beside Ironhide. "Really, Elita – we _have_ been working. You just arrived at a bad time."

The other young woman harrumphed quietly but nodded. "Alright then. First Aid's excitement is over, and we have less than a week now before the 25th, so get back to work!"

There was a general, incoherent grumble from the room at large. But accompanied by the pounding music and the subtle, unspoken, but very real threat that Elita and her ire posed, its occupants soon drifted back to their various tables and stations and sofas, retrieving discarded scissors or sellotape, and the occasional staple gun as they went.

Elita observed with the poise of a drill sergeant, her stare scrutinizing every one of them. Beside her, thoughtful blue eyes regarded her with admiration and affection.

"Anything I should know about?" Optimus inquired after her phone call.

She shook her head a little too quickly. "My mom."

"Oh," he said softly, hoping now that she didn't expand.

"She's been acting so strangely recently," Elita mused, not catching Optimus's slight wince. "Saying all this stuff – you'd think I was going to Antarctica, not uni, the way she goes on about how much she loves me and how I need to make sure to stay in contact."

He stayed silent, hoping she would ignore him and just muse. And of course, knowing her too well to actually consider it as a strong possibility.

"Do you know anything that would be making her act like that?"

He quickly assessed her tone, and decided it was purely questioning, a little speculative, and quite off-hand, as though she was not really expecting a relevant answer. She did, however, expect something besides a monosyllable in response.

"I don't think I'm qualified to guess at your mother's intentions," he said safely, hoping she wouldn't pick up on his evasiveness.

"No, of course not," she agreed swiftly, and he managed to stop himself from sighing in relief as she turned her face to his. "You've only met her once."

"Through no fault of our own," he added composedly. "I would very much like to see more of your parents."

"Well that's good," she smiled. "They've invited you back to ours for the summer holiday."

* * *

The entirety of Cybertron Academy had been designed just over four hundred and seventy years earlier by Philibert de l'Orme just a few years before his prime; considered then and now to be one of his greatest works. Fashioned after the châteaux of early Renaissance France, it was completely unique in the sea of English manor houses surrounding it, cyclical in layout, with its main hall as its magnificent centerpiece. The building towered up in the center of La Cour d'Arlene Durand (or Durand Courtyard, as it was anglicized by the lazier students), reaching out all the way to the back of the château, and its stained-glass windows gazed out over the stunning lake at the center of the school grounds and playing fields. When full to capacity, now that it had been equipped with retractable bleacher seating between the organ balcony at the back and the enormous mahogany stage, the hall contained the whole school body of over three hundred and fifty students easily.

That was not to say that at this particular moment in time it was not a hellhole for anyone caught in this swarm of students.

"Excuse me," a young blond asked as loudly as he dared while turning sideways in an effort to slip between the two boys in his path. "Excuse me!"

The way suddenly opened up for him, and he glanced up in surprise to see a tall, bulky young man pushing the other two aside, grey eyes looking kindly down at him.

"You need to be more assertive, Bumblebee," he advised, grinning to soften the criticism. "You know nobody around here listens."

"Thanks, Trailbreaker," Bumblebee smiled gratefully. "I'll remember that."

With that he darted through the newly-created exit and headed for the little patch of flagstone floor to which he had been assigned. He found there waiting for him a habitually grouchy-looking Cliffjumper, surrounded by a few other familiar faces. He was surprised to see Springer chatting congenially with Gears – or as congenially as the stout brunet was really capable of tolerating.

"Springer?" he queried in bewilderment, only noting in passing the paled warning glance the teen in question shot his way. "What are you doing over here?"

"Yeah, Springer!" came a new voice, indignant tone smothered over with cheerfulness. Bumblebee glanced at the group a few clusters over from his, from which was emerging a teasingly grinning Sideswipe. He bounded over and slung an arm around Springer's broad shoulders. "You're supposed to be on my team!"

"I know, Sideswipe," the dark-skinned teen said calmly, loosing the arm and taking a small step backwards. "But my ankle isn't quite healed, and I don't think I should be putting too much strain on it this soon."

"What!" the younger boy gasped exaggeratedly. "You'd play footie but not hockey? Football is just as dangerous!"

He ignored Cliffjumper's scoff and directed pleading eyes at Springer.

"Sorry, but I don't agree, Sideswipe," Springer rebutted calmly. "Last time I got a stick to the kneecap."

"That wasn't exactly–"

"And the shoulder blade, and the hip, and the foot."

"Brawn got kicked in the head last year," Sideswipe retorted peevishly.

"He did trip over right in front of Ramjet," came the reply. "It would've been worse if he'd done the same in hockey."

"What's with the hockey hating all of a sudden?" the twin demanded hotly, as though he were being personally insulted.

Springer sighed long-sufferingly. "I don't hate hockey. I'm just not sure I want to be in a match where you and Skywarp are the captains while I'm recovering from an injury. It can't end well."

Sideswipe spluttered incoherently for a few seconds before he was interrupted by a shove to the arm.

"You heard the man – he's not playing, so how about you bugger off back to your little corner?"

Icy blue eyes shifted to glare at the shorter boy standing beside him. "How about you mind your own business, che cazzo?"

"What did you call me?" Cliffjumper snapped angrily. "How about you grow the balls to insult me so I can actually understand you, eikel?"

"I could say the same to you, hobbit," Sideswipe hissed, looming over the shorter boy with fists and teeth clenched.

Cliffjumper bristled with fury. "Why you–!"

"Stop it, both of you!"

Blue and brown eyes flashed heatedly to Bumblebee's placating face.

"Sideswipe, I do have a team to assemble, as do you, so if you really want to fight with 'Jumper, could it please wait until later?"

There was a long moment in which Bumblebee feared Sideswipe would ignore him – or worse, turn his attention onto him, though that was rare as far as Bumblebee was concerned. Even Sides's _twin_ seemed to like Bee on his best days, tolerating him on his bad days. Although, Sideswipe did seem pretty worked up right now…

But the twin in question dropped his stance suddenly and raked his hair out of his eyes. "Whatever you say, Bee." With one parting look of dissatisfaction at Springer, he turned and walked back to his own group of players, leaving a steaming, muttering Cliffjumper in his dust.

"Domme speler van de idiootklootzakhockey –"

"So, you're on my team, right 'Jumper?" Bumblebee interrupted, before his friend really got himself worked up on the insults that he didn't understand but certainly didn't want to see repeated to Sideswipe.

Although he pretended not to understand Cliffjumper, Bumblebee was privy to the fact that Sideswipe and his brother were among the small group at Cybertron Academy who were aware of almost all curses in almost all languages spoken at the school. In the twins' case it was so that they could keep some sort of twisted point system on who they hated the most.

Cliffjumper, he was sure, ranked pretty high.

"Ja, wat dan ook, maar–"

"'Jumper, I don't speak Dutch," Bumblebee pointed out cheerfully, hoping to lighten the mood a little.

"Yeah, whatever," Cliffjumper repeated, still visibly fuming. "How do you up put with these jerks, Bee?"

Bumblebee shrugged; entirely unwilling to answer. He held up his clipboard. "Which position do you want?"

After taking down the names of all the people present to volunteer for the Autobot house footie team, Bumblebee excused himself jovially and glanced around the cavernous room for his house captain. "Optimus!" he greeted once he had gotten close enough.

"Hello, Bumblebee," the towering young man replied. "Have you got our football team ready?"

"Yes Sir, the usuals. Plus Springer, 'cause he's worried about the event that will be Sideswipe versus Skywarp."

Optimus rumbled with laughter. "And he isn't at all concerned with Bumblebee versus Barricade?"

Bee could only shrug. "Who am I to complain? All I know is that I get one free muscleman for the reject team."

The other's face simultaneously hardened and softened. "You are not the reject team, Bumblebee."

He shrugged again. "Calme-toi, Optimus, I'm not complaining. Have you got any of the others' lists yet?"

It was with a frown, but Optimus accepted the subject change as well as Bumblebee's proffered team list. He scanned it with faint interest as he spoke. "Ironhide's had the rugby sorted out since the beginning of the year. Mirage and the squash players haven't changed, and neither have the fencers. Prowl, obviously, has had the badminton team assembled for a while, and I believe Seaspray is still chasing down unwilling swimmers." He glanced up at Bee with amusement twinkling in his eyes. "I have no idea when Jazz is going to sort out the basketball."

Bumblebee couldn't help but to laugh quietly. "Last I saw him he was dragging Prowl out of here like the Devil was on his heels."

"I imagine that devil was Sunstreaker," Optimus chuckled. "I hear he was far less than pleased about being nominated a captain."

"Don't believe it for a second, Sir," the blond replied knowingly. "I think that Sunstreaker's happy Prowl's gotten past his 'I hate your sorry guts' stage and is actually letting him do stuff. Sunny's just as much of a competitor as Sides – though he sure does like to complain about it."

"Indeed," Optimus agreed heartily. "Thank you for your help."

"Entendu! So," He glanced curiously around the room from their vantage point on the stage. It was split roughly into house quarters, with each quarter divided further by sport. "How are the girls doing with the fête preparations?"

Optimus masked his amusement at the younger boy's language slips. "Quite well, I think. As Sideswipe so delicately stated yesterday, Elita can be quite the 'slave driver' when she wants to be. But all should be ready pour samedi." He put in a little of his residual GCSE French with a slight smile, since he knew Bumblebee liked to hear it spoken – even if it was butchered horribly.

In response, Bee grinned widely. "Tout va bien?"

"Oui, il est bien." He paused. "Is that right?"

With a little laugh, Bee smiled up at him. "Can't really say 'bien' with 'être' there, Sir. It's an adverb. You have to use 'bon' if you're describing a noun."

Optimus winced slightly. "It's quite complicated."

Bumblebee shrugged. "Try conjugating 'to be' when you're learning English. Talk about making no sense."

"Hm," Optimus said thoughtfully. "I've never really thought about it."

"'There's no pattern. At least you can learn the pattern in French." His lip twitched upwards. "Mostly."

"Mostly," his companion echoed. "I'm glad I dropped it, to be honest. I have you if I need any French spoken, anyway."

Bumblebee laughed.

"What's kickin' OP, Bee?" came a cheerful voice from the stairs leading up to the stage from the hall floor.

"Was that a football joke?" Bee asked, equally cheerfully. "If so, it really was terrible, Blaster."

"Ya cut me deep, lil' Bee," Blaster sighed, putting his hand on his chest as he closed the distance between himself and the pair. He said something in Greek that may have been a comment on the state of his poor abused heart, but appeared to recover from this heartbreak quickly and turned his attention to his Head of House, pulling out one of his earphones to let it dangle down on his chest. "Okay, OP, I know I said I'd go along with whatever 'Lita wanted, but she is _killin' _ma groove, man." He flailed hopelessly. "The woman can't put me in charge'a tha music an' then demand Europop! It just ain't _right_!"

"Europop?"

"Well if it ain't Europop it's _painfully_ close, OP! Couldya tell the lady ta lay off? _Please_?"

"Well," Optimus considered the wisdom of letting these two know his weakness. … Actually, knowing them, they probably already knew. "You know I don't have that much control over Elita–"

"But you are Head of Autobot House, so you do have some pull where house events are concerned," Bee pointed out. "Besides, this is a big event with parents and everything, so doesn't that just make it _more _your final call on things?"

"In theory," the brunet allowed.

Blaster laughed gleefully. "Gotcha wrapped round her lil' finger, OP? Don't blame ya. She's a flamecracker, that one."

"I think you mean 'firecracker', Blaster," Bee corrected amiably.

Whatever response lay at the tip of Blaster's tongue was drowned out by the sudden clashing noise from below the odd trio on stage. Their attention snapped down to the floor, where a little space had cleared in amongst the milling teens.

"Take that _back_, cabrón," a voice that was clearly Sideswipe's snarled.

"Y un huevo," came the smug retort. The speaker was almost as tall as the twin he was squaring off against, with hair a deep black-brown, and pale green cat's eyes gleaming with malice and amusement. Crashed beside him was a red plastic chair that one could only assume Sideswipe had just thrown in his general direction.

Optimus sighed when he saw the pair and began to stride towards them. "Couldn't they have at least waited until Saturday when this pettiness would actually be useful?" he mumbled to no-one in particular.

"Guess not," Blaster chirped, sounding far too entertained for the circumstances. "Skywarp's been in a pissy mood all morning – didja hear him an' Thundercracker at breakfast?"

Bumblebee watched the pair of them purposefully descend the three or four steps to the floor and make their way to the growing crowd; from the center of which Sideswipe was still demanding a retraction of whatever Skywarp had said, while Skywarp was still trying to goad the other teen into a fight. The young blond was about to follow the duo when his phone started to vibrate inside his jacket pocket. He almost sighed in relief at the excuse to escape the mess that might very well have been about to ensue.

Once out of the main doors and into Durand Courtyard, his eyes flashed wide open when he answered the call and heard a very familiar, and yet so very strange voice on the other end.

Back inside the hall, Optimus had reached the fringes of the crowd and was carefully using his bulk to push through to the center. Once there, he turned his disapproving stare onto his house member.

"Sideswipe, this is neither the time nor the place to be –"

"Why don't you shut it, Piréz?" Skywarp snapped. "This doesn't concern you. This is between me, Asswipe, and that faggot brother of his."

There was a second of stillness before Sideswipe's fist smashed into Skywarp's jaw – and then all hell broke loose.

* * *

"Hey, Bee,"

Silence met his cautious greeting.

"Bee? Bumblebee? Bobby? Is this the right number?" He paused. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" He started to sound a little panicked. "Do you need me to –"

"_Sam_?" Bee half-spluttered in interruption.

Sam all but heaved a sigh of relief. "Geez, Bee; don't scare me like that. I'm edgy enough as it is nowadays and you –"

He was interrupted once more. "Sam? Sam Witwicky?"

"Uh, yeah, listen – I know it's been a while, but –"

"It's been two years! How did you even get my number?" From the tone of Bumblebee's voice it was clear that he was in shock.

"Well I called your granddad's house and the new woman there gave me a forward number and that was your mom's and she gave me your mobile number so I could get you at school."

"Sam… why?"

There was a sigh over the line, followed by a little rustle of static. "I need your help with something."

Sitting in front of his computer, with the moon shining brightly into his room through his thin curtains, Sam crossed the fingers of his free hand and closed his eyes. _Don't turn me down, Bee, don't hang up, don't hang up…_

"Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"Uh," He reached up to rub the nape of his neck; somewhat relieved that he hadn't been turned down, even if his poorly-posed request for help had gone pretty much ignored. "Well, usually, yeah. But Bee, this is really important."

"Alright, hang on a moment." Bumblebee glanced behind him to the ridiculous noise coming from the hall and frowned slightly.

Yes, it had been a long time since they had spoken like this, but he still recognized the worry in Sam's voice, as well as the seriousness, and was of course willing to listen to his old friend. He walked quickly through the courtyard and the wrought-iron gate, along the white stone balcony and down the steps to the garden surrounding the lake. After settling down on the stone bench just below the wall and quickly composing himself, he brought the small phone back to his ear. "What's wrong, Sam?"

"Okay, last week I was assigned a genealogy project for my History class, just to give a presentation on someone in my family. I chose to do my great grandfather Archibald, remember him?"

"Ouias."

"Yeah, so I got all this stuff of his from my dad, that stuff from the asylum, and I was looking through it and trying to find something interesting besides, you know, his expedition logs and equipment, but the only things in there that were really unusual were those symbols he drew that no-one knew anything about. So I scanned a couple of them and posted them on a geek forum to see if anyone could find something out."

Bumblebee nodded slowly, trying to figure out where exactly his old friend was going with this.

"The next day, all the pictures were gone. So I got on another forum and asked if anyone could find out who deleted all of them, and this person called MadMag offered to help. She tried to trace the IP address of the hacker but all she could come up with was some weird encryption and the name 'Sector 7'. She checked that up and found this site that she actually couldn't hack; she sent it to me in an email last night."

"D'accord…" Bumblebee agreed slowly, just beginning to sense the end of this story.

"At the end of the email what she was saying cut off and she had typed 'SOS' below it. Bee, I think Sector 7 kidnapped her."

"_Que_?" Bee exclaimed. "Sam, that is a large jump of logic to be mak–"

"No, listen! I've been thinking about this. Whatever Sector 7 is, it's pretty big – she said so herself – and it sounds to me like some sort of government thing like the CIA. Or a _terrorist_ group."

Bumblebee rolled his eyes. "Now you're sounding like a conspiracy theorist."

"Oh am I? _Am I_? Then can you explain why guys in black suits are following around me all the time ever since I posted those pictures?"

There was a pause.

"Sam, are you even listening to yourself?"

Through the line Bee heard a heated muttering sound and what may have been a smothered curse. "Alright, so even if it sounds crazy – what if I'm right?"

"Okay Sam," Bee breathed, leaning his head back against the cool stone of the wall behind him. "Say you are correct, that Sector 7 is a rogue government agency or a… terrorist group, provided it even exists and this 'MadMag' isn't just playing a joke on you. Why on Earth have you called me? For one thing, they are most likely bugging your calls if you're right about them."

"Nah, I'm not using my phone. I snagged one from lost property."

"You," Bee stopped. "You 'snagged'–"

"I'll return it! Just don't be such a goody-goody for one moment Bee, _please_!"

Bumblebee frowned, his voice calm and about as acerbic as it ever got. "You still haven't said why you've called me."

"Okay, Bee, I'm sorry. I haven't slept… at all in a few days. I didn't mean to take my paranoia out on you,"

Bumblebee got the distinct impression that Sam realized how close he was to being hung up on – good friend or not.

"Sam."

"Right. I called you because you're the only person I know in England and I know I can trust you with this. The site that Mag linked me to doesn't have much on it that I can actually access, but one thing I can find is its base list."

"Its 'base list'?"

"Yeah, it's got bases, like, all over the world. And the most recently constructed one is in England."

It clicked, suddenly. "You want me to go check it out?"

"Well, if you could. I–" He sighed. "I'm worried about Mag, Bumblebee. If she's been kidnapped or something… it's my fault."

"Alright Sam. I'll see what I can find out about this place."

"Really?" The other teen sounded genuinely shocked. "You'll really go to their base?"

"Of course I will, Sam. You're my friend and you need my help. And I am a 'goody-goody' after all."

Sam winced. "Look, Bee, I said –"

"T'inquiète pas," Bumblebee interrupted with a smile. "I'm teasing you. Where is this base?"

"See, this is the weird thing," There was a definite frown in Sam's voice. "The base was built just under two years ago – just outside of the town 'Epsom'?"

"Epsom?" Bee repeated in disbelief. "That's…"

"Right next door to you, yeah."

* * *

**_TRANSLATIONS_**

_**

* * *

**_

**Football**/**footie** = soccer

**Hockey** = field hockey

**Che cazzo** = you dick (_Italian_)

**Eikel** = dickhead (_Dutch_)

**Domme speler van de idiootklootzakhockey **= stupid idiot asshole hockey player (_Dutch_)

**Ja, wat dan ook, maar** = yeah, whatever, but (_Dutch_)

**Calme-toi** = calm down (_French, familiar_)

**Entendu** = no problem (_French, colloquial_)

**Fête** = party/event (_French_)

**Pour samedi** = (in time) for Saturday (_French_)

**Tout va bien?** = all's going well? (_French_)

**Oui, il est bien** = yes, it's all well (_French_)

**Bon** = good (_French_)

**Etre** = to be (_French_)

**Cabrón** = bastard (_Spanish_)

**Y un huevo** = yeah right/no way (_Spanish, colloquial_)

**Ouais** = yep (_French_)

**Que** = what (_French_)

**D'accord** = okay (_French_)

**T'inquiète pas** = don't worry (_French, colloquial_)


End file.
